


Your Touch Has Got Me Haunted

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Bartender Mechanic, F/M, Fraternities & Sororities, Kid Fic, Note: Bellamy is Not the Father, Single Mom Clarke, Smut, Stripper Bellamy, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Teacher Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9686195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: Clarke's twenty-first birthday was bound to be something she'd never be able to forget after Raven surprised her with a night at a strip club, with the highlight being a private lap dance by one of the most talented, and lusted after performers, Bell-Oh-My.However, seven years later, with a daughter just entering kindergarten, Clarke realized that night would be harder to forget than she originally thought when she introduced herself to her daughter's handsome (and all-too-familiar) new teacher.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea really how this fic came to be, but it evolved from a random prompt/idea and grew into this... monster.
> 
> Thanks [cardinalrachelieu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu) [[yalenayardeen](http://yalenayardeen.tumblr.com/)] for enabling, encouraging and editing the shit out of this. Thank you for letting me come sit on your couch and eat your breakfast food because I can't get anything done at my own apartment. And for writing my summary.
> 
> Here, she also made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/cardinalrachelieu/playlist/7gXGFy0kkofhP1llSvE75v).

Clarke tugged down the creeping hem of the skin tight black dress Raven had coaxed her into wearing twenty minutes earlier. Despite living in California, it was still relatively chilly in October, and Clarke had argued the choice of outfit until Raven had nearly strapped her down on the bed and forced it on Clarke herself.

“Where are we going, Raven?” Clarke asked, standing on the corner and impatiently waiting for their Uber.

Raven grinned at her mischievously, shrugging. “You’ll see, Griffin. The rest of the girls are going to meet us there.”

“Meet us _where_?” Clarke whined, tugging on the dress again.

Raven swatted at her nervous fingers as she struggled with the outfit. “Stop that, you look hot.”

Clarke shot her a look of skepticism.

Annoyed, Raven stomped, looking more imposing than her 5-foot-5 frame would let someone believe. “Clarke Marie Griffin, you are going to stop whining right now, because it is your twenty-first birthday and we’re going to go out and have fun. Midterms are over. You have nothing to study for. Can’t you let loose for one night? _One night._ You deserve that. Hell, _I_ deserve that.”

Clarke deflated. She was right. She did deserve a night of whatever... _this_ was. A night out with her girls, not worrying about med school applications or the Gamma Kappa Sig winter formal, or ex-girlfriends or _anything_.

It _was_ her birthday after all.

“Okay,” Clarke said, relenting, a reluctant smile stretching across her face. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Raven said, giddy.

Something in her tone made Clarke nervous, but the Uber pulled up before Clarke could press her for more information.

Raven urged her into the backseat, brimming with excitement. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

Clarke wiggled into the far seat, settling in as Raven followed suit. “Ready as I’m gonna be,” she muttered, soft enough that Raven didn’t hear.

* * *

Her stomach dropped when the Uber pulled up to the Dropstrip.

“Raven,” Clarke warned.

"Don’t start.”

Raven swung her legs out of the car, thanking the driver hastily, and a second later Clarke was surrounded by her sorority sisters. Harper, Monroe, Niylah and Anya were all dressed in the most revealing clothes Clarke had ever seen them wear—and they were standing in front of a _strip club_.

She had never actually been to a strip club, but she _had_ heard from her big sister that this was a twenty-first birthday tradition. She was wary, but the Dropstrip was unique in the sense that it showcased both male and female dancers. Niylah even said that they exclusively hired members of the LGBT+ community to cater to the community itself—with a wide calendar of events and themed nights. She also said that she had an ex-girlfriend who knew someone who knew someone who worked here and that they _really_ took care of their employees.

Niylah placed a pink sash over Clarke’s shoulders—proud, glittery letters scrawling _Birthday Girl_ in a cursive font—along with a matching, feathery tiara. Harper linked her arm with Clarke’s and began walking towards the entrance, gleefully dragging her towards an untold fate.

Loud music swallowed up the sounds of traffic from outside as the bouncer cleared them and they stepped through the entrance. Scattered bits of scrap metal and old pieces of machinery decorated the interior, giving the space an unexpected industrial vibe. Raven and Anya veered off towards the bar while Clarke, Niylah and Harper made their way towards a circular booth near the stage. There weren’t any dancers performing at the moment, though Harper had mentioned they’d arrived a few minutes early for the main event.

Anya and Raven returned, victorious, a pitcher of beer in each of their hands and a hoard of cheap plastic cups pinched between their fingers. A moment later a waitress arrived at their table with a tray full of pink shots. Clarke grabbed one, as did the rest of the group, and they all lifted their glasses high in the air, clinking them together with enough enthusiasm to cause some of the liquor to slosh onto the table below.

Clarke laughed, downing her shot in one gulp as the others did the same. She winced as the overly sweet mixture of alcohol burned her throat, grabbing for one of the glasses of beer to chase away the discomfort.

“Happy birthday, princess!” Raven shouted as the rest of the group cheered, and Clarke _finally_ began to relax. Maybe this _would_ turn out to be a fun night.

The lights dimmed a minute later, and the whole room erupted in whoops and applause. Anya pressed a freshly manicured finger into the underside of Clarke’s glass of beer, causing it to tip up. Clarke jerked away to keep from spilling it on herself and noticed the sly smile on Anya’s face as she did. Scooting just out of reach lest Anya get any other brilliant ideas, Clarke relaxed into the cushions of the booth, nursing her beer and ready to enjoy the show.

Two cute girls took to the stage first, possessing a fair bit of talent on a pole, and Clarke delightedly offered up a few dollars for their effort. As did Anya. Clarke was pretty sure she’d also slipped one of the girls a scrap of paper with her number on it, but she couldn’t be sure.

The acts began to blur together as Clarke and her sisters knocked back more and more drinks, though Raven perked up quite a bit when ‘Roan of Ass-Getta’ was announced. The burly entertainer with long brown hair sauntered onto the stage, taking note of Raven’s whooping and tossing a wink her way.

“Now that’s an ass I can get behind,” Raven said crudely, chewing on her bottom lip.

Clarke threw her head back in laughter. “Only _you_ could find an appropriate way to bring up pegging without sounding crass.” Now tipsy and warm, Clarke leaned up and gave Raven a sloppy kiss on her cheek, leaving a smear of lipstick in her wake. Despite her earlier doubts, this was turning into a hilarious and much-needed evening out. “Thanks, babe.”

“I told you this would be fun!” Raven teased, and Clarke was suddenly aware that she would _never_ be allowed to forget that she’d actually _thanked_ Raven for dragging her to a strip club.

The emcee announced there would be one final act as the lights again dimmed, shadowing the room in complete darkness. There was an excited buzz in the air, and Clarke could feel the energy skittering along her bones. The people in this room were _ready_ for whomever was about to perform.

Intrigued, Clarke scooted to the edge of her seat, elbows on her knees as she pinched her glass of beer between her fingers.

The opening beats to some trashy, nineties-inspired hip-hop track filled the room, and she could feel her blood thrumming her in veins. When the lights came up, Clarke flushed all over.

“Please welcome to the stage, Bell-Oh-My!”

Another round of hoots and hollers echoed in the room.

Most of the dancers had been really attractive, but _holy shit._ This guy was _beautiful._ Underneath the camouflage hat, he had dark, perfectly messy hair that hung just over his deep brown eyes. And then there was the matter of his broad shoulders, enhanced by the crisp seams of the military-inspired jacket.

He held his hands out during a section of the dance and Clarke was mesmerized by the size of them. She was so distracted, in fact, that she didn’t even realize when he took his jacket off until she caught sight of the laughably tight tan undershirt he exposed in the process. It was possible the shirt was actually _painted_ on.

“I can certainly respect the aesthetic he has going on,” Anya commented.

Raven and Harper giggled wildly as they swiped through Snapchat filters and watched as Bell-Oh-My was turned into a puppy and then a deer and then a reptile of some sort. Anya noticed Clarke’s obvious attraction to the faux-soldier and leaned over to whisper something to Raven.

Raven glanced at the birthday girl and suddenly Clarke frowned. “What are you two plotting?” Clarke called out over the music.

She didn’t answer, only smirked before sliding out of the booth and disappearing to the back of the room. Returning a few moments later, Raven handed Clarke another shot. “I got you a special present,” she said slyly.

“Raven,” Clarke groaned, terrified of whatever _gift_ her friend had decided to bestow on her.

“Shh, drink the alcohol and watch the show!”

Clarke shook her head, though she couldn’t help but smile. Grinning, she knocked back the shot and returned her attention to the stage. Bell-Oh-My had switched to grinding his hips on the jacket he’d threaded between his legs, momentarily pausing to literally rip the caramel-colored undershirt off along with his trousers and _holy shit._

His abs, Clarke thought, could rival those of Adonis. It was actually obscene the way the vee of his hips swayed so expertly to the beat of the music, and she wondered if he could tell just how much she wanted to lick her way down his body.

It was also patently obvious that he was... um... well endowed. And it _really_ wasn’t helping that it had been almost eight months since she’d gotten laid.

Wearing nothing save a g-string, Bell-Oh-My finished his routine, ass facing the audience, and the whole room erupted in applause as dollar bills were thrust in the direction of the stage. He walked off with a grin and a wink, ignoring the cries of the people begging him to come back for an encore performance. Clarke, though she sat silently, wished he would come back out, if only so she could stare at his abs for a few more minutes.

Shortly after the stage cleared, the lights came up a bit and the room became a dull roar of chatting and laughter and forgettable music. A few of the earlier dancers returned in a more casual manner while the people sitting in booths and leaning against the bar enjoyed their drinks.

“Well,” Harper said, standing. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go, um… freshen up after that.”

“I’ll go with you,” Monroe offered.

They left the table and Raven turned to Niylah. “Okay, now that guy had a nice ass, but definitely not as nice as Ass-Getta.”

Niylah nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, sure, but Bell-Oh-My had the full package _._ And I mean _Full. Package._ ”

Clarke sat quietly, thinking about Bell-Oh-My’s full package, zoning out almost completely before Harper and Monroe returned a few minutes later, followed by a handsome young waiter.

“That’s her,” Harper said, sliding into her seat and gesturing toward Clarke, who suddenly snapped out of her haze.

“So you’re the birthday girl,” he mused, jutting his chin and sweeping his eyes over the gaudy sash and tiara adorning her head.

Clarke laughed. “Quite an astute observation.”

Now that he was closer, Clarke could see he was wearing a nametag. “Well, it seems your girlfriends here have decided to get you a special birthday treat,” Miller explained. “If you guys want to follow me, I’ll lead you to one of our private rooms.”

Clarke felt her heart drop into her stomach and she nervously whipped her head around until she could pin her eyes on Raven. “What did you do?”

“C’mon, Clarke,” Raven said, rolling her eyes as she stood up and grabbed Clarke’s hand.

“Exactly what kind of _‘special treat’_ did you arrange?” Clarke managed, pink all over and heart racing with anticipation.

“Do you trust me?” Raven asked, pulling her friend to standing.

Clarke took a deep breath, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Live a little, Clarke,” Raven said with a smirk.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Clarke momentarily considered her options. “It’s nothing bad?”

Raven grinned. “The opposite, actually.”

“Okay…” Clarke finally relented.

“Atta girl!” Raven praised, motioning for the rest of the group to go with them. Harper and Niylah got up, but Monroe and Anya waved them off, deciding instead to watch the girls that were currently on stage.

Miller quickly led them to a back room bare of furniture save a chair in the center and a three-meter bench along the back wall. He motioned for her to sit down, and the other two filed in and made themselves comfortable on the bench.

Job done, Miller excused himself, brushing shoulders with a man in a black shirt as he left. The stranger, face downturned and obscured by a ballcap, walked into the room, and it wasn’t until he took off his hat that Clarke realized what Raven had done.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Clarke breathed and shot a look at Raven, who only gave her a self-satisfied grin.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and inviting, and Clarke snapped her attention back to him.

He had changed into an all black outfit, the dog tags from his earlier performance still hanging around his neck. His voice was deep and gravelly, and Clarke felt her mouth drop open slightly, unable to keep up a neutral expression.

“I hear I’m in the presence of a birthday girl?”

“Mhm,” Clarke managed, adjusting the tiara on her head and gulping.

He smiled, broad and genuine, and Clarke wanted to die. He was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and, if her suspicions were correct, he was here to give her a lap dance.

She thought she might pass out.

“Now,” he took a step closer, “before we get started, do I have your consent? I know this was a gift that you probably didn’t know about.”

Clarke looked at her girls, and they both nodded at her enthusiastically. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Yeah, let’s do this, Bell-Oh-My.”

He grinned, tossing his hat somewhere off to the side. “Seeing as you’re about to have my crotch in your face, you can just call me Bellamy.”

As if on cue, music started; low and sensual and winding. Bellamy reached for his collar, pulling his fitted black t-shirt over his head and revealing a tanned, muscled swath of skin. He tossed the scrap of cotton in the direction of the snickering girls, and Clarke bit at her bottom lip.

Bellamy began moving his hips—slowly; deliberately. Clarke dropped her hands to her lap, wringing them anxiously as she watched, unable to tear her gaze from him. Unexpectedly, he leaned over her, one arm on either side of her shoulders, grasping the back of the chair. He rolled his body, stopping just centimeters shy of actually brushing up against her, and his dog tags dangled in front of her face, begging her to grab them and pull him closer.

Upon closer inspection of his chest, which was a feat considering her concentration had entered into a battle against his _damn_ hips, Clarke could see his shoulders were covered in freckles. She followed their trail down his arms as they caged her into the chair, trying to distract herself and ignore the growing warmth between her thighs.

His muscles flexed as he began to pull his body back up, and Clarke tipped her head back to look at his face. Bellamy met her gaze and offered a quick smile, which she was wildly unprepared for and, honestly, who the fuck did he think he was? She debated saying as much, but she was at a loss for words as his face came back into view.

“How we doing there, Princess?” he asked with a smirk.

“It’s Clarke.”

With a quick, suppressed laugh, Bellamy cocked his head. “Funny, my package has got your name on it.”

Clarke nearly choked, her eyes bugging wide. Bellamy waited until she met his gaze, and Clarke saw that he was trying to make her feel comfortable; help her loosen up.

“Oh, it finally came?” she asked, sly.

Bellamy smiled again, and Clarke really needed him to stop doing that. She shifted in her seat, trying to cross her legs without flashing the room. Bellamy came around to the side of the chair and propped a foot up on the lip of seat, thrusting his crotch into her space. Clarke leaned away only slightly, giggling.

From the bench, Harper let out a whoop.

“Take it off!” Raven said, whistling.

Clarke whipped her head around. “I thought this was _my_ lapdance,” she snapped. “Let the nice man do his thing, Raven.”

Bellamy tried to hide his amusement, and Raven held up her hands in surrender, shrugging animatedly with her entire body.

Clarke began to feel herself relax again as Bellamy took a step back, hands on his belt.

“So does that mean you’d like me to keep ‘doing my thing’?”

“Yes!” Raven interjected.

Clarke glanced at her sister with exasperation, and Raven clamped a hand over her mouth.

Waiting until Clarke brought her attention back to him, Bellamy quirked an eyebrow, fingers still resting on his belt. “Yes,” she said, and paused. “Please,” she added hastily a second later.

Raven rushed over and shoved a few dollar bills into her hands before retreating back to the bench. Clarke blushed a deep red and tucked them under her thigh as Bellamy continued his dance. Slowly, he pulled the belt out, wrapping it around Clarke’s shoulders and tugging her forward slightly in her chair.

Bellamy ducked down, nosing at Clarke’s neck. “Mind helping me out with my pants, Princess?”

Clarke gulped before reaching out tentatively. Her fingers fiddled with the clasp and the zipper, sliding it down carefully as she tried to avoid brushing against him. Bellamy placed his warm hands over hers, keeping her from pulling away. He adjusted their placement to his hips and guided her to help push the thick denim down. Bellamy swayed as Clarke took control and his jeans hit the floor with a thump, leaving the dancer in just a pair of tight black briefs.

She watched him fervently as he circled around her chair, continuing to roll his hips in a way that made it clear he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Clarke found herself completely enraptured by the playful, confident air about the man in front of her.

When the music ended, Bellamy was basically straddling her, lips at her ear. His breath came in short huffs against her skin, causing her to shudder. “I don’t normally do this,” he whispered, “but my shift is over in, like, forty-five minutes if you wanna stick around and have a drink.” He pulled back, adding with a wink, “I promise I’ll keep my pants on.”

Bellamy stood, smirking slyly before gathering his clothes. Clarke gaped at him as he ducked out, only shaking out of her reverie when Raven squealed loudly.

“Oh my _God_ , how turned on are you right now?”

Clarke flushed and shook her head in resignation. “Shut up.”

Raven stuck out her tongue.

“But, yeah, thanks,” Clarke offered, smiling in spite of it all. “That was kind of awesome.”

Since they were the only ones left in the room, the girls all burst into drunken laughter as Raven pulled Clarke from the chair and wrapped her up in a warm embrace. “C’mon, let me buy you a birthday shot.”

“You’ve already bought me at least _two_ birthday shots,” Clarke said pointedly.

“Sure, but it’s your _twenty-first_ birthday and _three_ is a factor of twenty-one, so, clearly, you need one more.”

Clarke opened her mouth to argue, but Raven was already dragging her back towards the bar and she didn’t have it in her to argue. Not while she was still reeling from what had just happened.

* * *

The cool air hit her skin, sending a shudder through her. Clarke wrapped her jacket tighter around herself as the group of girls stood huddled on the curb while Anya messed with her phone trying to call an Uber.

“Oh shit,” Clarke said, wondering just how convincing she sounded. “I forgot my phone inside. Y’all go ahead.”

“What? No, we’ll wait!” Harper said.

“That’s okay, you’re already going to have to squeeze five people into an Uber without me. I’ll get another car and I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”

Raven searched her face, and Clarke gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, I promise,” Clarke laughed when Monroe gave a little pout.

Raven reached out to hug her. “Happy birthday, Griffin.”

“Thank you, Rae.” She squeezed her best friend just a little tighter. “Seriously, I had fun.”

Raven pulled away with a smug grin. “Good.”

The rest of the girls took their turns hugging Clarke and wishing her a happy birthday before the Uber pulled up. Clarke waved at them before hurrying back inside.

Even with Raven’s concerted effort to get her drunk, the effects of the alcohol were wearing off, and, though Clarke still felt a warmth in her fingertips, most of the nastier effects had dissipated. After Bellamy had left her with that… _proposition_ , she’d downed two bottles of water at the bar.

With a quick peek at her phone, which she definitely still had in her purse, Clarke figured Bellamy would be finished with his shift in about ten minutes. She found an empty stool at the bar and asked for another water while she waited.

Nine minutes later, as if on cue, Bellamy appeared at her side.

“I was trying to think of some witty pick-up line about you drinking water, but all I could come up with is ‘my body is 70% water if you’re that thirsty.’”

Clarke nearly choked. “I hope you’ve never _seriously_ tried that on someone. That’s terrible.”

Bellamy smiled, and Clarke’s eyes swept over him. He was in street clothes now: jeans and a black t-shirt layered with a flannel pushed up to his elbows. “Aw, c’mon, like you’ve never tried a cheesy pick up line _just_ to see if it would work.”

She thought about it for a second. “Actually, last year I was trying to pick up the bartender at this local pub near campus and I, regrettably, used one.” She dropped her head into her hands, embarrassed, as she recited, “ _What time do you get off? Can I watch?”_

He laughed, and the gravelly tone of his voice sent a shiver through her. Bellamy’s fingers tapped out a rhythm on the bar and Clarke watched them, wondering what other things they were capable of.

“That’s pretty good,” he said. His mouth twitched slightly and Clarke began imagining what he tasted like, and if he kissed as good as he danced.

Clarke sat, nervously chewing on her lip, while Bellamy turned to the bartender to order them drinks—a whiskey sour for her and a manhattan for him. Normally, someone ordering a drink without asking her preference would rub her the wrong way, but Clarke was pretty sure she’d let Bellamy rub her any way he wanted. Once she had the glass in her hands, Bellamy tipped his head toward her. “Happy birthday, Princess.”

Clarke blushed, realizing she was still wearing her crown. She sheepishly straightened the plastic tiara and took a sizeable gulp, clinking glasses with him before doing so. Bellamy grinned at her and ordered them another round, and, finally, Clarke relaxed. Whatever else this night held, it could only sweeten the experience she’d already had—here, with her girls and with _him_.

Bellamy was smart and funny and fucking _gorgeous—_ and they talked for nearly two hours. He switched their drink order over to beers so they could continue to drink while staying relatively coherent. Clarke told him she was applying for med schools, and Bellamy mentioned he was paying his way through college to become a teacher. They talked about politics and movies and music, and the next thing she knew, Bellamy was leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

“Listen, I know I’m probably crossing a hundred different lines here, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Clarke’s chest tightened at the feel of his warm breath fanning against her neck—a promise of things to come if she only said yes. “Wouldn’t want you to lose out on tips just because all these patrons see you macking on another girl.”

“Macking? What year is it?” he laughed, smooth and low, and Clarke felt a shiver run through her. “What if I said I had a dressing room?”

Clarke shifted so she could see him more easily. “I’d say,” she paused, sweeping her gaze over him slowly, deliberately. “Let’s get out of here.”

Bellamy ran his eyes down her figure hungrily before standing and reaching for her hand. He slotted his hips against her open legs and curled his body over hers until his mouth hovered just above her ear. “C’mon,” he said, urging her off her stool.

They weaved through the lingering crowd, Clarke trying not to stumble as Bellamy walked with a fierce determination. She clung to him urgently, her small hand engulfed in his as she desperately tried to keep in step with him. Several women eyed him sensually, but he pressed forward without giving them a second glance.

* * *

An entire night wondering what his mouth was capable of did not prepare her for the real thing. Bellamy kissed _better_ than he danced, with a desperation and an intensity that had Clarke hot and bothered the moment he caged her in against the door of his dressing room.

The room seemed like it was ten degrees warmer than when they’d first entered, and Clarke felt a thin layer of sweat coat her skin. Bellamy stepped away, breathing heavily, leaving Clarke to use the door as her primary source of stability. Clarke huffed, eyes dark and lips pink and swollen. She watched as Bellamy tugged off the flannel button-down and reached for her again.

She closed the distance between them, clutching his shoulders, desperately seeking to anchor herself against him. Bellamy spun them and began walking Clarke towards his vanity. Before she hit the edge, his hands were under her, hauling her up on top of the desk.

Clarke used the transition to peel off her own jacket and toss it to the side before Bellamy kissed her again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her firmly against him. Clarke felt heat coil low in her belly as his fingers danced down her side, sliding over the soft material of her dress until they reached her thighs.

She pulled his lip between her teeth, reaching for his belt when his hand dipped under her hemline, and the urgent touch of her palm against him stirred Bellamy from his ardor.

“Wait, fuck,” he said, hoarse.

Clarke sucked in a deep breath. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I—fuck, I have like... _rules?_ I mean, they aren’t _actual_ rules, more like lines I’ve said I wouldn’t cross while working here.”

Clarke deflated a little. “Like making out with a cute girl you gave a lap dance to?”

“Like _fucking_ a cute girl I gave a lap dance to,” Bellamy clarified, meeting her hungry gaze with a serious one.

“Okay,” Clarke said, smiling wryly. “Then don’t _fuck_ me.”

From her reflection in the floor-length mirror across from them, Clarke could see her hair had been turned into a wild mess and her cheeks burned bright pink. There, perched atop Bellamy’s vanity, she was aware that her bra strap was falling off her shoulder and the dress Raven had forced her to wear was barely covering anything at this point.

Bellamy looked at her like he was fighting a losing battle; torn between wanting to continue with… whatever _this_ was and wanting to hold firm on his boundaries. “I’ve been told I’m quite skilled with my tongue,” he said, confident yet unsure all at once.

“Oh, _are_ you?”

“I mean, I promised I’d keep _my_ pants on. Didn’t say anything about _you_.” He grinned, his easy smirk chasing away the shadow of doubt she’d seen a moment ago.

Clarke chewed on her lip. “Well,” she mused, “it _is_ my birthday after all.” Her lips quirked into a sly smile.

Bellamy glanced at his watch. “For like, fourteen more minutes,” he teased.

“Better make them count then.”

Bellamy surged forward, fingers digging into her thighs hard enough to bruise. Clarke twisted her hands into his hair, pulling on his curls just hard enough that he moaned, nipping at her lower lip to even the score.

He felt so _solid_ everywhere their bodies were joined, and Clarke thought, briefly, that she could get used to the feel of him against her like this. But the thought dissolved into nothing as his mouth left hers to drag hot, sloppy kisses down her jaw.

Bracing herself against the vanity, Clarke again glanced at the two of them in the full-length mirror hung on the back of the door. Bellamy nosed at her throat, kissing and sucking across her chest as Clarke watched his reflection. She grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged up, demanding the piece of fabric be _gone._ Bellamy obliged and tossed it on a pile of clothes sitting in the corner. Clarke ignored the bright sequins and ridiculous costumes—a reminder of what he did for a living.

She admired the hard planes of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders, and now that they were this close, she could see the constellation of freckles mapping his skin—and the faint scar on his chin. Her desire to know the story behind it lost the battle with her desire to feel his lips on her skin, effectively emptying her mind to idle thoughts until she could only think of the way his touch set her skin aflame, the blood in veins thrumming with energy.

Warmth radiated from Bellamy’s hands as they found her breasts, squeezing them through the fabric of her too-tight dress. He dropped one back to her leg, skimming up her thigh, pushing the dress towards her hips. Bellamy pulled a moan from her lips as he kissed the tops of her breasts before dropping to his knees before her.

He pressed a sure kiss to the inside of her left knee, slowing down their fevered pace and biting and sucking his way up her inner thigh. Clarke let her head loll slightly, keeping her gaze trained on the reflection of Bellamy. With each movement the muscles in his shoulders and back went taut, and the sight of it was almost enough to undo her. He continued to arranged her body exactly the way he wanted, pushing on her right knee to part her legs. Bellamy reached up and hooked his fingers on the waistband of her panties, pulling them off in a fluid motion and discarding them without much ceremony.

Bellamy took her left leg and propped it on his shoulder, slowly sliding his hands towards her core, keeping his eyes on her the whole time, and Clarke could _feel_ it as the time between her heartbeats lessened. He hadn’t even _really_ touched her yet, and she felt like she was going to ignite.

Her whole body shuddered when he slipped his thumb through her folds, coating it in her arousal and spreading her wide with his calloused palms. He stroked lazily, and, when Clarke began to whine, Bellamy turned his head and smiled as he gave a playful bite against her thigh.

“Patience,” he said, voice vibrating through her whole body with a promise of how good he was about to make her feel. With a quick kiss to the lingering bite marks, Bellamy shifted forward to press his lips to her center. Clarke felt her hips jut involuntarily against his face, and Bellamy’s hands flew to her the tops of her thighs to steady her. Every last nerve ending in her body exploded when he _finally_ licked into her.

Clarke gave herself over as he worked her up and up and up, his hands running over her thighs, massaging her ass, gripping her hips, touching her knees. His tongue continued swirling, devilishly avoiding her clit as her desire heightened and she struggled to twist so that his tongue would swipe where she wanted it most. When he finally gave in, sucking on and flicking the bundle of nerves, tongue lashing across it with with practiced precision, Clarke bowed off the desk.

For a second she thought she might black out. Her eyes slammed shut for a brief moment before she remembered the mirror and she caught sight of him again, crouched before her. A rush of arousal surged through her and she _knew_ her release would find her shortly.

“Bellamy,” she breathed, threading her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. Even _she_ couldn’t make sense of the rambling, incoherent words tumbling from her lips as she continued to grind against his face. Clarke found herself grabbing her tits, massaging them, pinching her nipples through the fabric. Bellamy looked up briefly, catching a glimpse of her touching herself, and when he groaned against her core, Clarke let out a sharp whine.

“C’mon, Bell,” she pleaded, voice breathy and strained. “ _Almost… there._ ”

At her command, the pressure against her clit intensified; Clarke saw white and her whole body started to curl into itself, exploding and _writhing_ against his touch. Reflexively, she tried to squeeze her legs together, and Bellamy had to reposition his hands to keep them spread. He alternated between licking and sucking until Clarke tumbled over the edge, coming hard and fast and wet.

“ _Fuckfuckfuck,_ ” she panted, her body shaking in ways she’d forgotten it could.

Clarke closed her eyes as the pleasure coursed through her, and she let Bellamy guide her through it, drawing it out until she felt completely boneless.

“Ah, fuck,” she said, glancing up at the ceiling. When she looked back, Bellamy was rising to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He grabbed his t-shirt from the ground and handed it to her to use to clean herself up.

She watched him with hooded eyes as he checked the room, presumably for his _other_ shirt. Clarke pointed to the flannel dangling off the back of a chair, and Bellamy chuckled. Shrugging it on, he only fastened a few buttons, leaving his chest exposed.

Realizing that she was now the only one in disarray, Clarke hopped off the vanity, tugging the hem of her dress back down over her ass, covering as much as she could. There was no hope of finding her black panties in the dark, messy room.

A moment of uncertainty rose and Clarke opened her mouth to say _something_ , only to be interrupted by Bellamy saying, “So, I dance again next Wednesday night. Well, basically every Wednesday. And Friday. And every other Saturday.”

Clarke tried to keep herself from cringing at the implication.

_You’re free to keep coming to watch me strip, but that continues to make fucking or anything beyond cunnilingus in my dressing room off-limits._

“Oh, yeah, that’s cool. Good to know,” she replied quickly, nodding. “I, uh—” Clarke glanced around the room, trying to figure out something else to say.

“Here!” Bellamy said, in a sudden outburst.

Clarke sidestepped him as he brushed past her to open one of the drawers of his vanity. After a moment of searching, he procured the item in question.

“Here,” he said again, dropping the dog tags from his earlier costume into her outstretched hand. “To remember your twenty-first,” he explained a moment later.

Clarke smiled. “I don’t think I could forget.” She turned the tags over, reading the inscription: _Major Bell-Oh-My._ She shook her head, amused.

In the faint light of the bulbs outlining his vanity, his smile looked genuine. But, something about the gesture made her suddenly unsure; maybe he was just being nice. Clarke was painfully aware that she was just some girl he was wanted to fuck in his dressing room.

“Thanks, Bellamy,” she said, looking up at his kind, too-handsome face—and then a faint buzzing noise tore her attention away from him. “Oh, shit.”

Clarke scrambled for her purse, still sitting on the vanity. Pulling her phone out, Clarke saw she had about a dozen missed calls and seventeen text messages from the girls—each one asking if she’d made it home alright.

“Yikes,” she said, waving her phone at Bellamy. “Damage control.”

“I get it,” he said with a shrug. “Let them know you’re safe. Can I call you an Uber?”

“Oh, no, no,” she muttered. “I’ve got it—really. Thanks, Bellamy.”

“I had a really good time, Clarke,” he murmured, and Clarke _wanted_ to believe him.

“Yeah,” she managed. “Me too.”

Clarke started for the door, Bellamy unknowingly blocking her way. He met her haste with a serious gaze and leaned in for a quick kiss.

 _Fuck_.

Clarke felt her heart lurch. There was no way she could just _come back_ , knowing that this had been nothing more than just a casual hookup to Bellamy. In fact, it had probably been less.

Bellamy turned and reached for the door knob, opening it for her. “Happy birthday, Princess.”

Clarke hurried out with a small wave. Once outside on the curb, she punched out a short message to the group chat before calling herself a car.

_safe, heading home, story tomorrow xx_


	2. seven years later

Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as she scurried around the apartment, somehow managing to step on every single doll shoe and lego haphazardly strewn across the living room floor as she searched for the emergency contact card required for enrollment.

“Sasha! I told you to pick up your toys!” Clarke paused, listening to the sound of the television in the other room. “We have to leave in five minutes, and if your toys aren’t picked up, there will be no TV for the rest of the week.”

Finally, she heard rustling and bare feet padding across the floor. A moment later the television went silent and her five-year-old appeared. Sasha had her hands on her hips, glaring at her mother.

Clarke sighed exasperatedly. “I told you to put your shoes on!”

Sasha pouted and spun around, marching to the hallway by the front door. She threw a petulant look back at her mother and dropped to the floor to pull on her shoes. Sasha worked slow and deliberate on her shoelaces, looping them over and under and around each other like Clarke had shown her.

Satisfied that Sasha was finally doing what she’d asked, Clarke went searching for her purse and her keys. Once she found them, she turned back towards the door where Sasha still struggled with her laces. With a strangled laugh, Clarke approached her daughter.

Bending down, she brushed a stray curl from Sasha’s face. “Do you need help?”

Sasha frowned, determined to figure it out on her own. After another failed attempt, though, she deflated. “Yeah.”

Clarke quickly tied the tiny white sneakers and kissed her on the forehead. “Ok, bug, now we _have_ to go.”

The elementary school was a ten minute drive from their apartment, traffic permitting. As soon as she parked the car, Clarke hurried up the front steps, Sasha holding her hand loosely.

* * *

The open house event had already begun by the time they arrived, not that it mattered if they were there for the entire duration. It was structured so that parents and students could come and meet the teachers and administration before the first day of school, giving them time to ask any questions and discuss any concerns they had about their kid prior to school starting.

It was Clarke’s first experience with public school, _and_ Sasha’s first time in a full day of class and to say Clarke was feeling scatterbrained was a bit of an understatement. Logistically, it was going to be a struggle due to Clarke’s work schedule, but her mom had agreed to watch Sasha in the afternoons until Clarke could pick her up when the office closed.

Six years ago, just before she’d had Sasha, Clarke had made the decision to go into private medicine in order to maintain a semi-regular schedule. Her mother had introduced her to Dr. Jackson at one of her fundraising galas, and they’d had an encouraging conversation about the world of pediatrics and private sector medical care.

About ninety-five percent of the time, Clarke hated the privilege and the massive network her mother had access to, but just this one time, she was thankful for it. She got to complete her residency with Dr. Jackson while continuing living in her hometown—with access to childcare and her closest friends.

Most of the faces in the room were new, but Clarke recognized a few parents from preschool. She waved at Maya, whose daughter, Lyra, had invited Sasha to her birthday party back in June. Slowly, Clarke scanned the cafeteria for the kindergarten booth, finding it a moment later and noticing that the teachers stood chatting with several parents.

She was able to pick out her daughter’s assigned teacher immediately, seeing as he was the only male kindergarten teacher. He was dressed in a powder blue button down and pressed khakis, a pair of James Potter-esque glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Mr. Blake, she remembered.

There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Hi,” she said, pulling Sasha to stand in front of her, hands on both her daughter’s shoulders. “This is my daughter, Sasha Griffin. She’s going to be in your class this year.”

“Hi, Mr. Blake,” Sasha said politely, voice small.

“Please,” he said dramatically. “Call me Mr. Blake.”

Clarke fought the urge to roll her eyes, but Sasha giggled.

“This is our first time going to class _all_ day,” Clarke said as Mr. Blake knelt down in front of Sasha.

He looked at Sasha seriously, “And where did you transfer from, Miss Griffin?”

Sasha, suddenly shy, snuck a quick look back at Clarke, who gave her an encouraging nod. “I went to Our Lady of Arcadia,” she said slowly, struggling a bit with the pronunciation.

“Wow,” Mr Blake said, impressed. “I’m going to have to step up my game if I want to keep up with you, eh?”

Sasha giggled and Clarke let out a shaky breath, feeling a little more at ease. Perhaps this whole kindergarten thing would work out okay.

The more she watched him, the more Clarke realized Mr. Blake was incredibly gifted with children, handling them like they were miniature adults. Unintentionally, her focus drifted to other things, like the pull of his shirt across his broad shoulders and the fall of his curls against his forehead, brushing against the tops of his glasses. He was _attractive_ , there was no denying that, but something—something _else_ was bothering her. Had they met before? Did he have a doppelganger? A twin maybe?

Another parent sidled up behind them, breaking her out of her reverie, and Clarke took Sasha’s hand. “Well, thank you so much, Mr. Blake. I’m sure Sasha is looking forward to being in your class, right bug?”

Sasha grinned, nodding enthusiastically.

Mr. Blake met Clarke’s gaze and frowned for a second. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something before the parent behind them stepped forward to introduce themselves, effectively cutting off whatever thought he was about to verbalize.

Curiosity tingled at the base of her neck, and Clarke’s lips turned downward.

“Mom?” Sasha chirped, pulling Clarke from her thoughts. “Can we get McDonald’s on the way home?”

“Sure, bug,” she replied. “Sounds good.”

* * *

The car smelled like french fries as they pulled away from the drive-thru, and Clarke stuffed a small handful in her mouth as she waited for a green light.

Turning onto their street a few minutes later, Clarke changed the radio station to find something other than traffic reports and some trashy, nineties hip-hop song came through the speakers. It took all of three seconds before everything came rushing back.

“Oh my _god_ ,” she gaped.

The freckles, the hair, the shoulders. The memories of that night suddenly flooded her brain.

“What’s wrong, mama?”

“What?” Clarke mimicked, distracted. “Oh, nothing, bug. How’s your dinner?”

Clarke glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Sasha slurping on her juice contentedly with a shrug. Returning her attention to the road, she pulled into their apartment complex and found a spot. After putting the car in park, Clarke dropped her head against the steering wheel. “Oh my god,” she groaned.

* * *

She waited until Sasha was in bed before digging out her memory box from college. Clarke spent five minutes fishing for the small chest under her bed until she found the one she was looking for.

The tags were right there on top of the box—proof that _Bell-Oh-My_ had given her a token to remember their night by. Hurriedly, she reached for her laptop and pulled it onto the floor with her. Several clicks later, she was looking at a folder that she hadn’t looked at in _years_ —a folder labeled _Clarke’s 21st Debauchirthday Party._

She scrolled through the album—snapshots of half-naked Bellamy dancing around her; pictures of Raven and Harper doing shots with linked arms; drunk, terribly composed selfies; even a few saved Snapchat videos of Bellamy’s performance from the show that night.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god._ ”

Clarke suddenly remembered, in _extremely_ vivid detail, _everything_ from that night—every stolen glance and bad pick-up line and how he’d tasted and the way his hands had felt against her skin. A memory slammed into her—of being pressed up against his dressing room door, spread out on top of his vanity, his head between her thighs.

“Fuck.”

* * *

The following Friday was Sasha’s sleepover night at her grandparent’s house. Ever since Sasha’s dad passed away, Clarke made it a point to keep her relationship with his parents intact. Usually, this allowed Clarke a night to catch up on sleep or spend time with her girlfriends. Tonight, though, it meant going to Gina’s bar and getting _drunk._

Clarke was on her second beer by the time Raven showed up, leaning across the bar to give her girlfriend a quick kiss before sliding into the booth beside her.

“So,” Clarke said dramatically.

Raven frowned. “What?”

“Remember that time I got eaten out by a stripper in a dressing room on my twenty-first birthday?”

Raven smiled and took a sip of Clarke’s drink. “How could I forget that? That’s the night you became a _woman._ ”

Clarke rolled her eyes, stealing back her drink as Gina appeared next to them, bringing Raven her own.

“Anyways, yes, I remember. Why?”

Clarke folded her forearms across the bar and buried her face. “He’s Sasha’s kindergarten teacher,” she mumbled.

Raven nearly choked on her drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. _“WHAT!?”_

Gina, still lingering by their table jumped in. “Wait, really?”

Clarke sprang up, flinging her arms out in front of her, elbows on the bar. “I never thought I would _see_ him again, I didn’t even know his last name!” Clarke rushed, slurring a bit.

Gina cocked her head. “What _is_ his name?”

Gina knew everyone who was anyone in town.

“Um, Blake. Bellamy Blake.”

“No shit,” she laughed, suddenly amused. “Yeah, I dated him back in college. Nice dick.”

Clarke gaped at her, mortified, and Raven started laughing. Clarke dropped her head back against the table and groaned, Raven too busy punching away at her phone. A second later, the phone beside Clarke’s head buzzed and she pulled up her messages. 

> **Raven to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _YALL THAT STRIPPER THAT ATE CLARKES CAT IS TOTALLY HER KIDS KINDERGARTEN TEACHER HOLY FUCK_  

The response was immediate. And enthusiastic.

> **Harper to group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _oh my god, it’s destiny!!_
> 
> **Anya to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _Does he still have a good ass_
> 
> **Niylah to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _what was he wearing, was he wearing anything??_
> 
> **Monroe to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _Clarke clarke clarke get it!!!!_

 Clarke flipped her phone over and made a regretful noise.

“What are you going to do?” Gina asked, now invested in the situation.

“Do you think he recognized you?” Raven cut in. “Do you think he still keeps in touch with Ass-Getta? Did you get his number? On a scale of one to ten, how much hotter is he _now?_ ”

When Raven finally had to stop to breathe, Clarke pulled herself off the counter. “He wears glasses,” she said, defeated.

“Ohh, _fuck_ , Clarke,” she squealed, much too loudly. “Fuck, you _love_ guys with glasses!”

“Shut up.”

“Girl,” Raven said, suddenly serious. “Girl, you have to _get_ that.”

“He is Sasha’s _teacher!”_

“Temporarily,” Raven shrugged. “When are you going to see him next?”

Clarke frowned. “It’s not like _I_ have class with him.”

“Well, I bet he’d like to teach you a thing or two.” Raven waggled her eyebrows.

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck _him._ ”

Clarke slumped against the table, Raven texting the groupchat at lightning speed.

“I cannot _believe_ this,” Raven delighted.

“You and me both,” Clarke said inaudibly.

* * *

It was another month before Clarke had to actually face Bellamy, knowing who he was. The week leading up to Sasha’s parent-teacher conference had Clarke simmering in anxiety, until it was finally Thursday and she felt like she was going to throw up.

Clarke bounced her knee, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel as they drove to the school.

“Why are you being weird, Mom?”

Clarke pulled into a parking spot and shut off the engine. “No reason, bug. Grab your sweater.”

The moment they reached the top of the steps, Sasha ran off to find her friend Lyra, leaving Clarke to take a seat in the chairs set up outside Bellamy’s classroom. Their meeting was scheduled for six-fifteen, but Clarke wanted to arrive early, more so due to her nerves than any deeply-held convictions about punctuality.

Bellamy’s door opened at six-twelve and Sasha still hadn’t returned. He said goodbye to the Cartwig family before turning to see her. Clarke gave a small wave to Sarah, whose mother, Callie, was friends with hers.

“Hi, Mrs. Griffin, please come in.”

“It’s miss,” Clarke corrected him, standing. “Well, I mean, you can call me Clarke.”

“Clarke,” he repeated. Bellamy’s face suddenly shifted and he swallowed. “ _Clarke_.”

Sasha burst into the room at that exact moment, and Bellamy was forced to pull his eyes from Clarke. The kindergartener flung herself into one of the open chairs, and Clarke and Bellamy followed suit. As they got settled, Bellamy kept glancing back at Clarke over and over again.

“Hey Sasha!” he managed, reverting back to teacher mode. “How are you?”

“I’m great, did you know that Lyra’s parents bought her a _turtle?_ ”

The meeting carried on for the next thirty minutes, and Clarke answered mechanically. There was a charged undertone behind everything that Bellamy said, behind every look he gave her, and Clarke couldn’t seem to make her hands stop fidgeting in her lap.

When they finally made it through all the necessary talking points, the Griffin girls made their way to the door. Just as Sasha slipped into the hallway, Bellamy grabbed Clarke’s wrist and pulled her back gently.

Clarke spun around, eyes fixed on the floor.

“You never came back to the club,” he said slowly, deliberately.

“Bellamy, I—”

“Mo _ooom!_ ” Sasha called from the hallway.

Clarke looked back at Bellamy, saw he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to mask whatever he was feeling.

“I have to go,” she said hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke left the room without so much as a look back over her shoulder.

* * *

Thankfully, the next day happened to be the last Friday of the month, which was grandparent sleepover night. Clarke headed straight for the bar after work, still wearing her scrubs, and Gina greeted her with her favorite local draft and an awkward pat on the head.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Clarke frowned. “May as well wait until Raven gets here,” she mumbled, sipping on her drink. “Don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

Gina shrugged and left her to it. Twenty minutes later, Raven showed up with grease smudged on her face. “Gina told me it was an emergency, what’s up?”

Clarke shot a look to Gina, who gave her one of her famous _don’t-start-with-me-you-know -I’m-right_ looks, and she deflated.

“Parent-teacher conferences were last night.”

Raven’s eyes bugged out and she slid onto the stool beside her best friend. Gina leaned in close, tossing her rag over her shoulder. They both waited intently for her to continue.

“So, it was fine for, like, _ten seconds_. Until I said that he could call me _Clarke_ and I think that it clicked for him, or something. I don’t know. All of the sudden he’s all serious looking and then Sasha bursts into the room and of _course_ we can’t say anything. But then,” she said, darkly, bringing her glass to her mouth because _she needed alcohol for this shit_.

“Then?” Raven prompted, leaning forward. “Then what?!”

“On our way out the door he grabbed my wrist—”

“Oh my god.”

“ _He grabbed my wrist_ ,” she repeated, shooting Raven a look, “and pulled me back and said, ‘You never came back to the club.’”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Raven said again. “What did you say?”

Clarke sighed. “I didn’t get to say _anything_ because Sasha interrupted, again.”

“Girl.”

“I _know_.” Clarke took a long drag of her beer. “And, like, I don’t even know what I _would_ say. What _do_ you say to someone who casually ate you out after a lapdance _seven years ago?”_

Raven did her best to mimic Clarke’s cadence as she sing-songed, “‘Hey, your tongue still do that thing?’”

“ _Raven_ ,” Clarke whined.

“Look,” Raven said, reaching out to cover Clarke’s hand with her own. “It’s like you said—it’s not like _you’re_ in his class. You don’t have to see him that often… if you don’t want to.”

Clarke nodded.

“But, what _I’m_ saying is, stop being weird about it. You’re both adults. Whatever _thing_ you had between you is in the past, and if you want something in the future… well, that’s up to you.”

Clarke sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Raven, you should see him.”

“Saw plenty of him seven years ago.”

“I _know_ , but Rae, he’s older now and, swear to God, I think he looks even better with all his clothes _on._ ”

“Okay, let me know if that’s still true when you see his dick.”

“I’ve seen his dick,” Gina piped in. “It’s a really good dick.”

Clarke settled into her seat, musing about his hands as her fingers rubbed against the condensation on her glass. “Yeah,” she said absentmindedly. “Okay.”

* * *

Clarke managed to keep herself from thinking about Bellamy _too_ often over the next few weeks. That was, until she got a call from Sasha’s school mid-morning on a Tuesday.

“Ms. Griffin, there seems to have been a situation with your daughter and another student. We ask that you come and speak with the principal about the situation at your earliest convenience.”

Clarke sighed. “I’m actually at work.”

“I understand that, Ms. Griffin; however, we do not tolerate violence in our school, and we need to move forward to assess whether or not disciplinary actions need to be discussed.”

“Right,” she said, already packing up her things. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

After a quick conversation with an understanding Dr. Jackson, Clarke was in her car on the way to the elementary school. She stewed the whole drive there. “Goddammit of _course_ it’s my kid, what the _hell_ Sasha,” she muttered, drumming her hands on the steering wheel.

Still in her scrubs, Clarke rounded the corner to see Sasha sitting outside the principal's office, guilty and dejected.

“Mom—”

“Sasha,” she said sternly. “What happened?”

Clarke knelt in front of her daughter and held her gaze. Sasha’s eyes were tinged red, like she’d been crying.

“Marianne said that I’m not allowed to go to the dance next week because I don’t have a dad.”

The severity in her look softened. “Oh, bug,” she said gently, running a hand over the side of her daughter’s face.

The door to the office opened a moment later and Clarke rose to her feet, dropping a kiss to Sasha’s forehead before leaving her to step inside. Bellamy was standing behind the principal’s desk, and Clarke met his eyes for the briefest of moments before taking a seat. Mr. Wallace sat, arms crossed on the edge of his desk; stony and unflinching.

“Ms. Griffin, as you may know, Sasha and her classmate, Marianne, got into an altercation this morning in class in regards to our Daddy/Daughter event coming up next Friday.”

Clarke nodded.

“I have spoken with Marianne and her parents already, and we can all agree that while Sasha was provoked into action, we do not tolerate violence in our school.”

“Yes, sir. I completely understand,” Clarke agreed. “Sasha’s father passed away when she was two. I’m sure the situation with Marianne was confusing and perhaps escalated to a level that neither one of them could understand or react to appropriately. I’ll speak with Sasha so she understands how to handle herself better in the future.”

Principal Wallace nodded gravely. “I appreciate that, Ms. Griffin. I know she is a good kid.”

“She is,” Bellamy said, reassuringly.

Clarke smiled at that, turning her attention back to Mr. Wallace. “I am also aware that she will need to receive disciplinary action in the classroom,” Clarke continued, “but I urge you to allow her to attend the event next Friday. I believe it would do more harm and than good to bar her from it.”

Principal Wallace stared at her pensively for moment before answering, “I suppose you have a point, and I will leave it up to Mr. Blake to address the disciplinary actions for the two girls, assuming that you will continue the conversation about boundaries and violence at home.”

“Yes, sir, absolutely,” Clarke assured. “Thank you.”

He dismissed her, and Clarke pushed up from her chair. Before she reached the door, Bellamy stopped her. “I do need another chaperone for the dance, if you want to join me.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows at him.

“I know Sasha would love to have you there. She talks about you all the time.”

“All good, I hope,” Clarke laughed.

Bellamy ducked his head with a smile. “Of course.”

“Listen, about Sasha—”

“What the other student said to her was cruel,” Bellamy said, serious. “I couldn’t say it in there, but I don’t think Sasha overreacted. Apart from a talk about asking for an adult if something like that ever happens again, I won’t be disciplining her.”

“That’s… very considerate of you.”

“It’s what I’d want someone to do for my kid.”

“You have children?”

“No.” His face twisted.  “No, I’m—” He ran his hand through his hair, like the answer was far more complicated than just one word could summarize. “No,” he settled on.

There was a weighted pause as they both attempted to find something to say.

“If Sasha needs someone to escort her to the dance next week, I’d be happy to do it,” Bellamy said, almost immediately ducking his head, scared he crossed a line.

Clarke glanced at him. “I appreciate the offer, but her Uncle Wells is already going to be taking her to the dance.”

Bellamy swallowed hard, nodding in acknowledgement. “And what about chaperoning? Are you up for something like that?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea…”

They hovered in the doorframe, just out of range from Principal Wallace, and just hidden enough for Sasha not to see them either.

“Okay,” Bellamy said quickly. “What about coffee, then? You can pick the time and place.”

Clarke sighed, chewing on her lip. She glanced over at Sasha, who was looking at her lap and swinging her legs from the edge of the seat.

“Fine,” Clarke relented. “Meet me at Grounders at three on Saturday.”

“I’ll be there.”

Before Clarke could change her mind, she reached for her daughter and turned towards the entryway. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she gave Bellamy a nod and then walked swiftly to their car.

* * *

Bellamy was waiting for her when she arrived, nearly knocking over the table to stand up when he saw her walk through the door of the coffee shop.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” She offered him a smile but made no move to shake his hand or in any way initiate physical contact. “So, coffee?” she asked expectantly.

“Right, coffee. My treat.”

A few minutes later they settled into a small booth near the back of the shop. Clarke wrapped her hands around her cup and chewed on her cheek. “So,” she said.

Bellamy laughed, clearly trying to shake the tension. “So, how have you been? What are you up to these days?”

“Well, obviously I’ve got Sasha,” Clarke started. “But, we’ve been good. I work at a private family practice, doing my residency with a pediatrician.”

“I think I remember you saying something about med school.”

Clarke ducked her head. “Yeah, I always thought I’d end up a surgeon like my mother, but Sasha kind of uprooted those plans.”

“What happened there, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Um…” Clarke shifted in her seat. “I met her father the summer after I got my bachelors. I drifted away from my sorority sisters for a while, being in another city and all that. Well,” she stopped to suck in a deep breath, picking at the sleeve on her coffee cup, “after dating for about a year, I found out that he was actually dating Raven, too, and that I was the other woman. About three weeks after we broke up, I found out I was pregnant.”

“Shit.”

“Raven and I worked it out, and though we both dumped the guy, he remained a part of Sasha’s life when she was born.”

“He passed away though, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he died when she was two. It, um, was a mugging and he… he didn’t make it out of surgery.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy said, reaching out to touch her wrist briefly.

Clarke smiled and shook her head. “Sasha has me, and I think that’s enough. But she also has a lot of people who love her very much, and for that, I’m extremely grateful. There are a lot of days when it’s really hard and I want to crawl into a hole. I don’t always love the mom life, but I love my kid, and at the end of the day, that has to be enough.”

“I think you’re doing okay.”

“I’ve got help,” Clarke replied. “Anyways, what about you? You were working your way through school, right?”

Bellamy nodded. “Yeah, I guess when you last saw me I was working on my degree. It took me forever to finish the program, mostly because I had custody of my sister until she turned eighteen.”

“How old were you?”

“I was twenty when I got custody, and she turned eighteen when I was twenty-four. So, for a few years I was just taking night classes and waiting tables. When a friend of mine told me about the Dropstrip, I couldn’t turn down the money. I was able to finish my degree in, like, a year and half after taking that job.”

“That’s crazy,” Clarke mused.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t do it differently, you know?” Bellamy shrugged. “My sister was important, and she needed to finish high school, so I put her first until she kind of rebelled against me when she turned eighteen. For a few years our relationship was kind of spotty, but it’s getting better. She’s married now, has twins. We’re working on our relationship, I guess you could say.”

Clarke hummed. “It seems like you sacrificed a lot for so little in return.”

Bellamy shrugged. “Our childhood was pretty fucked up. I try not to blame her too much, but it sucks.”

They moved on to other topics after Clarke commented on the song that was playing over the sound system. They were right in the middle of talking about the new Secretary of Education when Clarke glanced at her phone.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, but I actually have plans tonight,” Clarke said with a sinking feeling, trying to mask her disappointment about leaving Bellamy.

“Oh, no problem.” Bellamy waved her off. Then, after a beat— “Can I ask what your plans are?”

Clarke pushed up from the table, carrying her cup to the trash can with Bellamy at her heels. “My girlfriends are throwing me a birthday party, actually.”

“Oh shit!” Bellamy said, surprised. “Happy birthday!”

Clarke ducked her head, remembering the history they had in regards to her birthday. “I, um,” she started. “You could come?” It came out as a question and she winced. “It’s very casual and I’m sure the girls wouldn’t mind,” she added hastily. “It’s, like, a barbecue and there’s going to be beer and music and lawn games and—”

“You had me at casual,” Bellamy interjected.

Clarke laughed nervously. “I, um… I can text you the address. Or you can just follow me, or whatever.”

“Actually my sister dropped me off. Her car is in the shop and she needed mine this weekend to tote around her kids. I was just gonna Uber home after coffee.”

Clarke nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. “Well, I guess you can just ride with me then!” She was positive she sounded nervous and _fuck_ if her heart wasn’t hammering against her ribcage.

Without another word, Bellamy followed her to her car as she hastily typed out a warning text to the group chat. 

> **Clarke to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _Bringing bellamy… BEHAVE xx_
> 
> **Raven to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _[eggplant emoji x10]_
> 
> **Clarke to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _You can be uninvited you know_
> 
> **Raven to Group: Gamma Kappa Sig Bitches!**
> 
> _the party is literally at my house_

Clarke took a deep breath and ducked into her car.

* * *

When they pulled up to Raven and Gina’s house, a bunch of people were already hanging around, drinks in their hands. Clarke stopped to give Maya a hug, and to say hi to Riley, who she didn’t realize would be there. Bellamy casually trailed behind her as they continue to weave their way through the crowd, greeting partygoers as they went.

They finally reached the kitchen, and Clarke grabbed them both a beer from the fridge. Bellamy took it graciously and followed her out to the patio where they were practically assaulted by Raven.

Appearing at their side, Raven said a quick _hello!_ to Bellamy before hauling Clarke to the far side of the yard, leaving Gina to reconnect with her old lover.

When they were out of earshot, Raven looked her right in the eye and said, “You’re taking that boy home tonight, right? _Please_ tell me you’re finally going to get that dick.” She glanced over her shoulder to drag her eyes over his body, and then back at Clarke. “It’s been seven years, Clarke!”

“Raven, we barely know each other!” Clarke tried to reason with her best friend.

“YOU BARELY KNEW HIM WHEN—” Clarke slammed her hand over Raven’s mouth, only pulling it away for Raven to continue in a harsh whisper—“when he _went down on you at a strip club._ Damn, girl, get over it! Or under him, amirite?”

She held her hand up for a high five and Clarke frowned, ignoring the gesture. “He’s my kid’s teacher.”

Raven huffed and threw her hands up in surrender. “You are IMPOSSIBLE.”

Clarke glanced back over at Bellamy, who was still talking to Gina. He found her gaze and smiled at her, and Clarke felt a rush of nerves and— _fuck._

“Look, I’m going to go back over there and I’m going to have a good time and _you’re_ going to leave it alone.”

Raven opened her mouth to protest.

“Leave it _alone_ ,” she reiterated and Raven pouted.

“Fine, but, if you even so much as _see_ his penis, I need the details.”

Clarke’s cheeks flooded with pink. “Yeah, yeah.”

Raven grinned. “Okay, go on then,” she urged, nodding towards Bellamy and Gina. Clarke dropped a kiss on Raven’s cheek and glided back to her… _date?_

“Hey,” she greeted, noticing how Gina silently made herself scarce, “how about a game of cornhole?”

Bellamy grinned slyly. “Is that a euphemism?”

Clarke laughed and grabbed Bellamy’s hand. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

Luna and Nyko teamed up against them, and Clarke managed to get Bellamy to at least _hit_ the wooden platform. As the night wore on, the temperature dropped and Clarke found herself leaning back against Bellamy for warmth. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, the other still holding a beer as they laughed and drank and chatted with all of her friends.

“I need another beer. Want a refill?” Clarke asked, pointing to Bellamy’s near empty bottle.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, waving her off. Clarke smiled, biting her lip. She was having so much _fun._

Once inside the kitchen, it was suddenly quiet and Clarke realized they were alone again. Clarke opened the fridge, rooting around for a beer that wasn’t Miller Lite.

“Here I found another—” She stood up, spinning to face him and—Bellamy was _right there_. He leaned forward, slowly crowding her against the counter, and she set the two long-necks down for fear of dropping them. Her gaze flicked to his mouth and her chest fluttered.

Her eyes were just starting to close when her phone began ringing, loud and obnoxious, and Bellamy jumped back an entire foot.

“Shit,” she said, breathless. “I’m so sorry.”

She shot him an apologetic look and swiped right to answer the call.

 _“Clarke, I’m so sorry to call you, I know you’re at your birthday party and we didn’t want to bother you, but Sasha started throwing up about twenty minutes ago and hasn’t stopped. Bob thinks we should take her to the clinic and_ — _”_

“No, no, I’m on my way, Debs. Thank you for calling,”

She hung up and looked at Bellamy, who stood dejectedly in the middle of the kitchen.

“Is everything okay?”

“Bellamy, I am so sorry, that was Sasha’s grandparents, I—” She sighed, disappointed. “I will get Raven to take you home and—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I can just grab an Uber or something. Go take care of your kid, Clarke.”

Clarke worried her lip before slipping her phone into her pocket. A beat later she pushed up from the counter, crossing the space between them and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m really glad we did this. Thank you for coming.”

She smiled ruefully and fished her keys out of the bowl sitting on the counter.

“Thanks for getting coffee with me,” he countered with a hopeful smile.

Clarke couldn’t help but blush, and it took all her willpower to turn around and leave the party... and Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big shoutout to my girl Rachel. And also my mom, Crystal, who always checks to see that my parent/child interactions and child behaviors seem legit. You guys da real MVPs.


	3. a finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry
> 
> i hope it was worth the wait, i'm sorry i suck.
> 
> thanks rachel for being a boss as cheerleader and editor, and for hosting the squad for a lake weekend/writing retreat.

Bellamy returned to Clarke’s side with a cup of punch as she gazed out fondly at the dance floor. Wells was spinning Sasha around in a circle, the young girl’s head thrown back in laughter.

“So how long have you known Wells?” he asked, handing her the drink.

Clarke took it gingerly, careful not to spill. “Basically my entire life. We lived next door to each other until we left for college. He’s been there for everything—my parents’ divorce, college applications, med school applications, Sasha’s birth... And he stepped up to be here for her after her father died.” She paused, taking a sip of the sweet liquid in the clear plastic cup. “I know she doesn’t _need_ a dad, she has me, and I’m awesome... but. It’s nice for her to have Wells, and he adores her.”

Bellamy nodded attentively. “I think you _are_ awesome, but I’m glad she has Wells, too. He seems like a good guy.”

The song ended a moment later and Sasha barreled towards them. She grabbed Clarke’s hand and began to drag her onto the dance floor as the next song started up. “C’mon, mooo _oo_ m!” Clarke nearly spilled her drink, handing it to Bellamy as her five-year-old tugged on her. She laughed, mouthing _I’m sorry_ at Bellamy before following Sasha onto the dance floor.

Bellamy watched her go, smile ghosting his lips.

Wells cleared his throat. “Sasha says she loves your class,” he said, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Bellamy tipped his head to the left, toward Wells. “Yeah, uh”—Bellamy knew exactly what Wells was doing, and so he chose his words carefully—”she’s a really good kid, loves to read.”

“Don’t I know it,” he huffed, smiling a bit. “She’s already on a second-grade reading level—even asked me for more _Magic School Bus_ books for her birthday.”

Bellamy grinned wide. “Yeah I know, I’ve had to beg the grade two teachers to share some of their library with me. I’ve actually been thinking about approaching the subject of bumping her up early.”

Wells raised an eyebrow. “What, to first grade?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, nodding. “She’s ahead of the class in almost every subject. Not that I don’t mind taking a little extra time to keep her busy and engaged, but it might be beneficial for her to be with students on the same level as her.”

Wells bit the inside of his cheek and furrowed his brow. “Have you told Clarke this?”

Bellamy was distracted watching them again. “Huh? Oh, no.” He shook his head at Wells. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. Trying to figure out how to bring it up.” He gave a quick laugh, wondering if it had been a mistake to reveal so much.

Wells clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, good luck. But, for what it’s worth, I think it could be good for Sasha.”

Bellamy smiled, dipping his head towards the girls dancing wildly to the chorus of a classic 80s tune. “What do you say we go cut in? Girls shouldn’t get to have _all_ the fun.”

Wells huffed a laugh and nodded in agreement.

The two of them arrived in the middle of the dance floor and Bellamy dropped down to Sasha’s level. “Mind if I borrow your mom?”

Sasha peered up at her mom, then back at Bellamy. She shrugged. “I guess.”

Wells sighed dramatically. “Good, I’ve been waiting _forever_ for my turn.” Pouting in her direction, Wells held a hand out for his goddaughter, and Sasha took it, giggling.

The song faded into a slow number, and Clarke laughed nervously before slowing sliding her arms over Bellamy’s shoulders and linking her fingers behind his neck. Bellamy stepped in closer, dropping his hands to her waist. Clarke felt her breath catch briefly—before remembering where they were.

They swayed slowly, barely moving in their spot. A sudden surge of confidence overcame Clarke, so she leaned up and whispered. “I remember you being a much better dancer seven years ago.”

Bellamy coughed, hands flexing at her hips. He almost responded when the music stopped and one of the teacher-chaperones came over the sound system.

“I’d like to take a second to thank everyone for coming out tonight—”

Clarke zoned out, unable to listen to the announcements being made. Her eyes wandered to Bellamy, who seemed intent on focusing on the woman at the microphone.

“—and I hope you’ll all consider volunteering for the book fair next semester. Thank you and goodnight everyone!”

Signaling the end of the event, the crowd began to disperse.

Sasha yawned and Clarke sighed. “You ready to go, bug?”

“What? No! Mom!” Sasha whined. “I’m not tired, and Uncle Wells said I could come over for ice cream and Netflix tonight!”

Clarke whipped her head towards Wells, who gave her a slow, deliberate nod.

“Mom, pleaseplease _please_ ,” Sasha begged. “I promise I’ll clean up all my toys this weekend and—”

“Okay, okay!” Clarke laughed, holding her hands up in surrender. Wells raised an eyebrow at her and then slowly moved his gaze between her and Bellamy. “Wait,” she said suddenly. “My car is at your apartment, Wells.”

“I can take you home,” Bellamy said, almost too quickly.

Clarke flushed and turned towards him, finding him standing much closer than she’d imagined. Bellamy ran his hands through his hair, leaving it messy and askew. She shivered, suddenly realizing the effect he was having on her. Swallowing, Clarke allowed herself to do a quick once-over of the man standing in front of her—so goddamn attractive, that she almost groaned out loud. Instead, she managed, “Are you sure?”

Sasha ran off to tell her friends about going to Wells’ and Wells trailed after her. Bellamy stepped closer to Clarke, who was fidgeting nervously. “I, um, I mean, it’s still early. We could even go grab a drink or something?” he said quietly, hopefully.

Clarke bit her lip, a warm, fuzzy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She looked at him and felt the want, the _desire_ that had been building—and gulped. “What if I said I had an unopened bottle of wine back at my apartment?” she said hoarsely.

Bellamy’s eyes widened, but his lips tugged into a grin. “I’d say,” he said, drawing out his words as he leaned in closer, “let’s get out of here.”

With a smile, Clarke slipped her hand into Bellamy’s and let him pull her out of the gym.

* * *

Clarke uncorked the wine as Bellamy slowly paced up and down the hallway, studying the pictures on the wall. Her heart pounded against her chest, trying not to spill the wine as she poured two even glasses.

“Here,” she said, holding the glass towards Bellamy. He turned and smiled, fingers brushing hers when he took the wine from her.

Clarke took a long swallow, eyes glued to Bellamy over the rim of her glass.

“Look,” he said, setting his drink down. Clarke swallowed. “I know we’ve kind of been doing this awkward dance around what happened seven years ago, but… can we talk about it?”

Nervous energy thrummed under her skin. She took another swig of her Chardonnay and nodded. “Okay,” she said weakly.

Bellamy frowned, trying to figure out where to start. “I know it was a long time ago, but we had a good time, right?”

“Definitely,” Clarke affirmed.

“And I was… respectful? I didn’t hurt you or pressure you or—”

“What?” Clarke choked. “God, Bellamy, no. You were…” She flushed at the memory, breath rushing out of her. “You were wonderful.”

He deflated. “Okay, then what did I do wrong? You knew how to find me again, but… you didn’t come back. Ever. We didn’t exchange numbers, and I had no idea how else to find you. I was worried that I messed something up—that I crossed a line or made you uncomfortable somehow.”

“I—” Clarke felt an ache in her chest. “I just felt—I don’t know how I felt.”

He was quiet as she composed her thoughts, patiently waiting for her to explain.

“When we were in your dressing room... you said you had a… a _rule_ about hooking up with people because of where you worked. And then when you invited me back to _the place where you worked_ I just thought, ‘Wow, clearly he isn’t interested in this progressing any further.’ So I just... shut down those feelings, I guess.”

“Shit,” Bellamy said, running a hand through his hair. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” Clarke shrugged, taking another sip of her wine.

“Feelings?” he prodded.

She shrugged again, tipping the glass farther up.

Bellamy struggled with what to say next. “I didn’t think that’s what I was doing, at the time.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at him, mystified.

“I thought I was opening the door _for_ more, like—come back and then maybe we can actually exchange numbers and maybe hang out _outside_ of work and then those rules wouldn’t apply anymore.”

She gulped. “Oh.”

“I had no idea how to navigate that situation,” he said, frowning. “I was just, _so_ into you—and I was terrified that I was going to fuck everything up with my job and… I never meant to send that message, Clarke.”

“Yeah, well, looks like we both fucked it up.”

“Metaphorically speaking, we’ve been cursed with seven years of bad luck because of it,” he said with a nervous laugh. Clarke sucked in a breath, and a stifling silence settling between them.

“So what now?” Clarke said, breaking the silence a minute later.

Bellamy took a large gulp of wine, finishing off the glass. “What do you want?”

“I want this to be less complicated.” Clarke sighed, running a finger along the rim of her drink. “I want to have the things I want. And I don’t want to feel selfish because I want them. I want to feel _good_.” Her eyes flicked upward with the last word, catching Bellamy’s gaze nervously.

“I want… look—I know I’m your kids teacher, and I’m probably crossing a hundred different lines, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Thank god,” Clarke breathed and surged forward, nearly spilling her wine in the process. It was better this time, practiced and intentional. Bellamy’s hands slid around her waist and pulled her flush against him.

The kiss brought her back to that night, seven years ago, when he had her pressed up against the door to his dressing room, and she was suddenly hungry for more—more heat, more skin, more _more._ Bellamy slipped a hand under her shirt, fingers dancing along her spine. The other one cupped her face as they continued making out against the counter.

“Wait,” Clarke panted, pulling away but keeping her face centimeters from Bellamy’s. His eyes remained trained on her lips.

“What?” he croaked, swaying slightly, as if he were drunk from the interaction.

She bit back a sly smile. “Last time, I got a show,” she said playfully.

Bellamy ducked his head with a sharp laugh. “Oh yeah?”

Clarke hummed. “Oh yeah.” She swept her eyes over him as she took another step backward. “I’m sure I’ve got some trashy 90s hip-hop on my phone somewhere.”

“That’s dirty,” he laughed. He shook his head at her as he brought his hands to the buttons on his shirt. He began to roll his hips with exaggeration, and one by one he plucked at the buttons, revealing his toned chest bit by bit. Clarke giggled when he turned his back to her and shrugged his shirt down his shoulders. He glanced over his shoulder at a radiant Clarke, letting the button-down slide over his arms as he rocked his body to the imaginary music.

“Oh my god, okay, you know what,” Clarke said, setting her glass down and pulling off her own sweater. “I don’t think I have the patience for this, I can’t take you seriously.”

“Oh good,” he sighed and pulled the shirt off swiftly.

Clarke put her hands on her hips and licked her lips. “Now take your goddamn pants off.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

Bellamy grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her, Clarke fumbled with his belt and began walking them backwards through the apartment.

“Second door on the left,” she managed between kisses and Bellamy growled against her neck. His hands skim down her body and grab under her thighs, lifting her into his arms. Clarke threw her arms around his neck, her hands combing through his dark curls.

Once through the door, Clarke dropped her feet back to the ground and pulled her top off, revealing the lacy blue bra she was wearing underneath. Bellamy froze for a second, forgetting what he was doing in the moment.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

Clarke flushed and continued to underdress herself. As she lost bits of clothing, Bellamy kissed her neck, her chest, her jaw, and soon enough they were skin to skin—nearly.

He brought a hand to one of her breasts, giving it an appraising squeeze. His thumb skimmed the edge of the cup and he said, “I like this, but it has got to go.”

Clarke kissed him, covering his hand with her own and guiding him to the front clasp.

“Oh,” he said, quickly divesting her of the garment. Bellamy wrapped his warm hands around her ribcage, gently pushing Clarke towards the bed. Her knees hit the edge of the mattress, causing her to stumble slightly.

Bellamy quickly recovered, catching her under her thighs as he dropped over her, kissing her neck. Clarke rocked against him, fitting their bodies together. He mouthed at her ear and Clarke arched into him, a moan escaping her throat.

Pulling back, Bellamy hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down quickly. Clarke fumbled to help, lifting her hips in time with his actions. His hands returned to her body, smoothing over her stomach, palming at her breasts as her legs remained hooked around his hips loosely.

He gave her a sly smile and dropped down to his knees, lifting Clarke’s legs over his shoulders as he settled between them, breath hot against the insides of her thighs.

“Hey!” she barked. “No, no, no.”

Bellamy looked up in surprise. “What?”

“Ah-uh,” she said, shaking her head. “I waited seven years. There’s time for _that_ later.” Clarke propped herself up on her elbows to look at him properly, her chest rising and falling quickly, her cheeks flush.

“Oh,” he said with a slight smile. He slowly rose back up to a standing position at the end of the bed, Clarke’s legs falling to the side. Her eyes dropped to his obvious arousal, pushing against the fabric of his dark boxer briefs. Playfully, Clarke brought her toes up to push down on the band of his underwear. Bellamy let out a laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

In one fluid motion, Bellamy rid himself of the garment, giving Clarke an uninhibited display of his cock. She let out an almost annoyed huff. “Seriously?”

Bellamy snorted. “What?”

“Get down here,” she said shaking her head, reaching towards him. Clarke slid her hand around his neck and pulled him to her mouth, kissing him ardently. He let out a soft laugh against her lips, and covered her body again, adjusting her so they were both securely on the bed.

His fingers found her folds as he kissed her, mouths open, teeth clashing. She tugged on his bottom lip, pulling out a groan. He circled her clit, stoking her arousal, working her up.

“It’s almost like you’ve been waiting 7 years for this,” Bellamy whispered against her cheek.

Clarke tried to say something smart in return, but Bellamy began to work his fingers quicker and quicker and her whole brain shut down for a few seconds.

She slammed her eyes shut.

A moment later, Bellamy’s weight and heat—and _fingers_ —disappeared, and then, before she could even whine—“Play with yourself, Princess.”

Clarke felt her whole body flush, and she brought her fingers to keep working on the high Bellamy had already begun to push her towards.

“That’s it,” he said, voice gravelly.

Warmth spooled low in her belly.

“Condoms?” he asked.

“Top drawer,” she directed, breaths heavy as she brought her other hand to her breast.

Bellamy followed her line of sight and struggled with the drawer for two seconds before it popped open and he grabbed a condom. He rolled it on quickly and hopped back onto the bed, hovering over her, and she pulled her hands from her cunt and grabbed his hips.

With a bruising kiss, Bellamy positioned himself over Clarke, using his hands to guide her onto her stomach. After a little encouragement, Clarke lifted her hips and Bellamy slid into her.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, dropping his forehead against her spine. Clarke groaned and pushed back against him, feeling his skin slick and warm against hers. Bellamy banded one arm around her stomach, the other steadying himself over her.

Clarke felt like they were two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly, and that feeling was cemented into her mind as soon as he began to thrust. With each movement, Clarke slowly circled her hips and Bellamy nearly stuttered.

“Babe,” he ground out, hand gripping her ass in warning.

“C’mon, Bell,” she panted, continuing to match his rhythm.

Bellamy curled around her, panting and groaning as she fluttered around him.

“Hang on,” Bellamy breathed, pulling out. Clarke groaned with annoyance before Bellamy flopped back against the mattress and motioned for her. “C’mere.”

Clarke bit her lip, crawling over him. She bracketed her knees on either side of him before positioning herself in the right place. Bellamy reached between them and guided himself into her. She sank down, throwing her head back.

“Oh my god,” she said, taking a breath with her whole body. Her head lolled as she wriggled slightly, finding what felt the best.

Below her, Bellamy shut his eyes, his hands flexing at her hips. After the longest ten seconds of her life, Clarke began to _move_ , lifting her hips and dropping them back against him. Bellamy grunted, sliding his hand up to her tits and squeezing. Clarke moaned, setting her hands on either side of his head and she rolled her whole body against his.

Forehead to forehead, Clarke thrust back against Bellamy faster. His hands curled around her, dancing up her spine as their bodies moved together.

“Ah, shit,” he grunted. Quickly, he snaked a hand between them and pressed two fingers against her clit as she continued to rock down against him. Clarke sat back up slightly, setting her hands on her thighs, head thrown back as she felt her climax building in her toes. Almost losing her own rhythm, Clarke became more vocal, trying to focus her energy on her own body and movements. But, they became frantic and sloppy as they both climbed their peak.

Bellamy worked harder and faster against her clit, knowing he was close. Clarke began to whine, her entire body being overcome with pleasure as she toppled over the edge. Bellamy steadied her and began to thrust upward as she melted into him, pulsing and sensitive from her orgasm. A moment later he followed, cursing as he came, fingers digging into her hips.

“Jesus,” he said with a strangled laugh. Clarke remained perched on top of him as he pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling with the overwhelming feeling of pleasure, and happiness.

Clarke slid off of him and tucked herself into his side, still breathing hard as her own legs worked to recover from their jelly state. Bellamy giggled again, and Clarke snorted. “Oh my god, _what?_ ” she said, not able to keep herself from laughing in return.

“Nothing,” he said, laughing quietly. “You just… killed me, I might be dead.”

Clarke broke into laughter, pressing a kiss to Bellamy’s ribs as he tried to twist away from her. They laid there, regaining their energy and ability to function, until Bellamy pulled himself up to discard the condom and clean up. Clarke followed suit, trailing after him and turning the corner to use the bathroom.

A few minutes later they both returned to the bedroom, still naked, and collapsed on the bed.

Bellamy rest his hand, palm up on the sheets between them and Clarke slipped her hand into his as they laid there on top of the covers, chests rising and falling slower and slower with each passing heartbeat.

Clarke managed to regain enough coherence to pull Bellamy from his near-sleep state and drag the covers over them.

With her head pillowed on his chest, Clarke smiled. Bellamy’s breathing had slowed just enough that she knew he had fallen asleep, so she curled herself around him and let herself do the same.

* * *

When Clarke woke she turned her head to see that Bellamy was still asleep on his side, almost in a fetal position. She nearly laughed because he was such a _big guy,_ all shoulders and biceps and what have you, but he looked so young and innocent for a brief second in time. His hair was sticking out in every direction against the pillow, and Clarke rolled over to brush a stray piece from his face.

Bellamy’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and he made soft, sleepy groans as he stretched out his body trying to wake up.

Bellamy in the morning was the only thing Clarke wanted to wake up to. Ever.

“Hey,” he said, in a husky voice. His hand slipped back under the covers to find her body, and he let it ghost over her skin. Clarke wiggled closer, enough to be able to give Bellamy a quick kiss on the chin. That made him smile, and he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

“Good morning,” she murmured, grinning. His eyes were soft and warm, and suddenly she didn’t care about her stale morning breath as she leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss. Still half asleep, Bellamy took a second to respond, but when he did, he did so enthusiastically.

Clarke was very aware how naked they both still were as Bellamy’s hands skimmed over her hips, grabbing her ass and pulling her closer. Their legs became entangled as Bellamy’s touch became fervent and needy.

Tangling her hand in Bellamy’s curls, Clarke tugged him closer, as if that were possible, and Bellamy rolled on top of her. While still kissing her, Bellamy arranged himself between her legs and cupped her breasts. Clarke’s legs instinctively wrapped themselves around his hips and rocked. He was already hard against her stomach and she moaned.

Pulling back, Bellamy sat up and grabbed her knees, pushing them upward and out, leaving Clarke fully on display. “Now it’s my turn,” he quipped with a sly smile. “A lot can change in seven years.”

“Only for the better, I hope,” Clarke rasped.

Bellamy laughed and leaned down to kiss her sternum. Clarke allowed herself to relax fully into the mattress, closing her eyes with a deep breath. He continued a trail of kisses down her tummy, then proceeded to press a kiss to each inner thigh. Clarke jerked slightly, feeling a rush of arousal jolt through her.

“Easy, babe,” he comforted.

Her eyes fluttered open, half-lidded, and she found him looking up at her from between her legs. He gave her a quick quirk of an eyebrow and a wink before licking into her. It certainly _was_ better than seven years ago.

Where it was rushed and sloppy, this was drawn out and attentive. Bellamy worked her close to the edge, only to pull back and tease her for a short moment. Clarke was a writhing, panting mess by the time he finally pushed her to the peak and she tumbled over the edge.

“Jesus, fuck,” Clarke panted. Bellamy rested his cheek on her thigh, looking up at her with a lopsided grin. Bringing her hand to her forehead, Clarke covered her eyes as her body reveled in the aftershock of her orgasm.

Bellamy lazily ran his hands over her legs and stomach as she caught her breath.

Barely lifting her head, Clarke said, “Come back up here, please.”

Bellamy chuckled and crawled back over her, kissing one of her breasts before flopping onto his side. He laid his head next to Clarke’s and she curled up onto her side, also, tucking a hand under her own head.

“I have no problem returning the fav—” A loud buzzing from the nightstand cut her off. Clarke quickly scrambled to the edge of the bed, grabbing her phone. “Holy shit it’s already 11, I’m supposed to pick Sasha up in like half an hour because Wells has plans with his boyfriend—who I haven’t even met yet. I’m so sorry, I probably should shower and—”

“Clarke, you’re rambling,” Bellamy laughed. Clarke glanced over her shoulder to see Bellamy propped up on his elbow, looking like some sort of god posed for a statue on her bed behind her. She groaned internally in disappointment. “It’s okay,” he reassured her. “Go hop in the shower real quick. I’ll start coffee and I can drop you off.”

Clarke nearly melted on the spot. “Oh, that would be great. Honestly.” She twisted herself back on the bed towards him and Bellamy leaned up to meet her with a quick kiss.

Clarke tried to linger, but Bellamy gave her a playful push and laughed. “Go!”

“I’m going!” she said, throwing her hands up.

When she got up from the bed, leaving Bellamy laying there briefly, Clarke made sure to give her hips a shake as she sauntered to the bathroom.

* * *

Clarke sipped her coffee slowly as Bellamy turned onto Wells’ street, following her directions.

As the car pulled up to the house, Sasha was already darting out the front door and down the lawn. Clarke got out and Sasha pummeled into her legs.

“Hey, bug.” Clarke brushed her daughters hair with her free hand and leaned down to give her a kiss on the head. “Hey Wells,” she added, looking up to see her friend emerge from the entrance to the house. “Sasha, can you go grab your stuff from your room? Make sure you didn’t leave a mess in Uncle Wells’ house, okay?”

Sasha nodded and ran back to the house, nearly running into Wells on the porch. A moment later another man appeared behind Wells, narrowly avoiding Sasha, and Bellamy nearly choked.

As they all gathered at the bottom of the steps, Wells motioned to Miller. “Guys, this is my boyfriend—”

“Miller!” Bellamy interjected.

Miller reacted and reached out to grab Bellamy by the shoulder and pull him into a half hug.

“Damn, man,” Miller said. “It’s been years.”

Wells looked back and forth between them and Clarke realized how _she_ knew Miller, and then she realized Wells might not know where they would know each other from.

“Uh,” Wells started again. “So, this is my boyfriend Nate.”

“Hey,” Nate—Miller?—reached over and shook Clarke’s hand.

“Hey.” She smiled. “I feel like we’ve met once before.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Wells said.

The group laughed, and Bellamy spoke up with the explanation. “Assuming you know I worked at a strip club years ago and that’s how Clarke and I met.” Wells nodded. “Well, Miller and I worked there together.”

Wells stood with a open mouth for a second, processing the information. He looked at Bellamy, then Nate, then Clarke, and then back at Nate. “Wait… you know how to strip and you never _told_ me?”

At that moment, Sasha reappeared, her small bag in tow, and Clarke sent Wells a look.

“Ah, uh,” Nate started. “We can talk about that later.”

Clarke herded her daughter towards her car. “Well, it was really nice meeting you Nate, but I know you guys have plans and I don’t want to hold you up.”

Sasha climbed into her booster seat, and Clarke shut the door. Bellamy and Miller were exchanging contact information, and she waited by her door until Bellamy waved good-bye. They both overheard Wells badgering Miller about the strip club again.

“ _I was a waiter!_ ” he explained in a hushed tone.

Clarke and Bellamy laughed as Bellamy stopped in front of her.

“I had a really good time,” he said. Clarke quirked an eyebrow. “No grey area this time,” he said, holding up his hands. “I know you’ve got to get going, I’ll call you.”

Clarke grinned. “You got it.”

Bellamy gave her a quick hug, stealing a kiss on the cheek before pulling back. He tapped on the window and waved at Sasha who beamed back at him and waved enthusiastically.

When she got back home she had a few unread text messages.

The first one was from Raven, of course.

 

> **Raven to: Clarke**
> 
> _i need all the details. All of them. How’s the [eggplant emoji]? Big? Girthy? How many times he get u off? Are you gonna do it again? ANSWER ME! Come drink wine at ginas at 1 in the afternoon and tell me everything_
> 
> **Clarke to: Raven**
> 
> _i have sasha, will call u later xx_

Navigating back, she clicked on Bellamy’s message. 

 

> **Bellamy to: Clarke**

_Last night was amazing. I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t make plans for next Saturday._

 

Clarke smiled. It wasn’t open to interpretation. He wanted to see her again, no grey area. For the first time in a long time, Clarke believed that this could be the beginning of something really wonderful.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come yell at me.](http://nathenmiller.tumblr.com)


End file.
